


Afterbirth

by RingThroughSpace



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Abortion, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 09:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingThroughSpace/pseuds/RingThroughSpace
Summary: "Jack," Phryne asked. "Why are you here?"





	Afterbirth

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to slap a general trigger warning on this story. See the tags. Really.

After two weeks, he had, with calculated indifference, spoken to Collins.

After seven weeks, he had rung up Mac.

After eight weeks -- and three cases, all without her appearance -- he had gone to find her.

***

Much to his surprise, it was Dot who opened the door. She seemed shocked -- almost frightened -- at his appearance. "Is Miss Fisher in?"

"Miss Fisher just got back from Mac's about an hour ago," she answered. Dot's lips tightened in disapproval as she spoke, as if she'd only now noticed the eccentricities of her mistress's lifestyle. "She said she doesn't want visitors."

Of course she didn't. He nodded sadly. "I'll go then."

"Yes," Dot agreed automatically. He was about to turn, but Dot's hand twisted her apron. "No," she said, clearly torn. "No, she could use you. Wait here." He heard her footsteps as she stepped into the parlor. "Miss?" he heard her say. "The inspector's here to see you."

The pause was longer than he'd expected. "Let him in."

Dot nodded, and then turned back to Jack. "May I take your coat? Mr. Butler has the day off." She stood on her tip-toes to reach the hatrack, then turned back to him. "Miss Fisher's in there," she said, pointing needlessly at the parlor. Her voice was nervous. "Why don't you go in? I was just going to bring her tea." Dot scurried off in the direction of the kitchen without meeting his gaze. Jack stared at her for a moment in puzzlement, then turned back to the parlor.

Phryne had lost weight since he'd last seen her, her face almost painfully narrow. She leaned back on the chaise, a pillow clutched in her lap, a newspaper untouched on the table in front of her. She wore in old black trousers and a long-sleeved blouse. Concealing, though any bruises would have faded weeks ago. She looked tired.

He stood at the door awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. "May I sit?"

She nodded, not speaking.

He took a seat on a chair across from her. "I haven't seen you at the station." When she didn't respond, he took a breath. "Collins said you and Dot had gone on holiday for a month. I'd hoped to see you back after that."

Still silence. That scared him. Phryne had never been silent.

"It's been quiet without you."

He could catch the exact moment when she realized that he wouldn't disappear, just a brief flicker of annoyance before she covered it with an artificial smile. "Of course I left on holiday," she said. "I had the tickets, and I saw no reason to cancel my plans. Train tickets are expensive, after all." Not like that had ever stopped her before. "And once I got back, Aunt P had a soiree to organize, and of course she has a charity to run. And by she, I mean I. She can't do much without my help these days. Jane will be home from the Continent in only two weeks, and of course we need to prepare for her return."

"And the Hamptons? I was sure you'd be involved."

Phryne hesitated only a second before replying. "I wasn't at the party, sadly. I came down with the stomach flu just after I returned. I was barely able to leave the house for weeks. I've only just now recovered." She smiled artificially again. "Don't worry. I'm sure it's not contagious. But you've no desire for me to lose my composure at a crime scene. Hugh does enough of that already."

He raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Hampton said you were a friend of hers."

She looked down, out of excuses. "It seems petty now."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. He sighed. "We closed the Augry case, at least. We charged the seven of them with smuggling. It was impossible to conclusively identify Abbotford's murderer without a witness, of course, but most of the men we've arrested will be spending some time in a cell."

She looked briefly pained when he mentioned Abbotford - he was a friend of hers, he remembered. She had a habit of befriending murder victims. "Did my name come up?"

"No." That had taken work, more than he would admit, and much of it illegal. Badgering suspects was part of the job, but omitting evidence was frowned upon. "Not in the official record."

Her relief, at least, seemed genuine. "Thank you."

Another pause, this one longer than the first. 

"Jack," Phryne asked finally. "Why are you here?"

Why was he? He'd avoided thinking of an answer. The day after the raid, he'd half expected her to stride into the station unscathed, to act ( _to feel_ ) as if nothing had happened. When a week went by, he'd begun to wonder if she'd ever return.

He'd rarely thought of Phryne as vulnerable, and he'd never seen a conflict she wouldn't confront head-on. If she didn't return to City South, it was because she couldn't return. And as much as he'd wished - publicly and privately - for her to leave, he had never expected her to disappear.

But saying that was far too much. He had done this all wrong. Perhaps he should have brought a file. The Clarke burgleries, for example. She might enjoy those. She might even be able to help. But it was too late now. 

He opened his mouth, still uncertain how to reply, when Dot abruptly entered the room.

"Your tea, miss," she said, placing a tray on the central table. Phryne jumped at her arrival, but Dot backed out without waiting for a reply.

_No,_ Jack realized suddenly. He'd misread the situation earlier. It wasn't that Dot was uncomfortable around _him_.

"We have tea," Phryne said blandly. Her smile was forced. "Sugar, Inspector?"

"Yes," he said distractedly, still trying to process Dot's reaction. Phryne winced as she pushed herself off the chaise - odd again - and Jack cut her short. "Here," he said, "I can pour. There's no need -"

Phryne hissed suddenly, turning to look at the chaise beneath her.

Jack cranned his neck to follow her gaze, his eyes widening in alarm. The spot on the chaise where she had been sitting was covered in blood.

"Miss Fisher?" he asked, trying to conceal the alarm in his voice.

Her expression was embarassed, not alarmed. She flushed when she realized he had noticed, then tightened her lips. "I did tell Dot I didn't want visitors today."

And then the last piece clicked into place. Stomach flu. Gone to see Mac. Dot's disapproval. Blood. _Oh._

Of course. As usual, he'd been a fool.

"I ... see," he managed. 

For the first time that day, she met his eyes. "It was his," she stated.

_His._ Once he'd realized he would escape charges, Simpson had delighted in taunting him with unwanted details. ( _"She screamed for you, you know," he'd said, smirking. "I think she expected backup."_ ) By now, he'd assumed he knew the worst. 

This was new.

"And the blood?"

She shook her head, her voice calm. "It's afterbirth, Jack. It's perfectly normal. A bit heavier than I'd expected, but I'll be fine tomorrow."

Even if it was an act, her calmness was his undoing. "For God's sakes, Phryne!" he shouted. "Is there no end to this? First you go off and try to raid a warehouse on your own. You knew what Simpson could do! You heard the stories about him! And now you go and visit a butcher-"

He caught himself mid-sentence, frozen by her expression. He had shouted at her before. He had expected defiance, shock.

What he saw was raw fear. And then, in a moment, it was gone, replaced by anger. "I didn't visit a butcher," she snapped. "I'll have you know that Mac is --" She caught herself. "Mac is acquainted with an excellent physician."

Three months ago, she would have completed the sentence. That she didn't now felt like a betrayal.

_She's looking for a fight,_ Mac had warned him a week ago. _Don't let her find one._

"Of course she is." He forced himself to exhale. It wasn't her he was mad at.

"Excuse me," Phryne said coldly, pushing the pillow onto the blood spot. "This may take some time."


End file.
